


There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

by manicmagicat



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Comforting Simon, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Book 1: Carry On, comforting baz, mentions of mental illness tho, more focus on comfort than hurt, part two especially is fluffy, so take care of yourself, sorry idk how to tag this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicmagicat/pseuds/manicmagicat
Summary: Simon’s showering in the dark and Baz starts sneaking in to light candles. Baz flinches in the dark and Simon buys him string lights. Just a little two part fic on how we can be the light for the ones we love when they’re not in a place to do it themselves.-There are mentions of mental illness (canon level / not very intense) but please keep that in mind and do what is best for you!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 174





	1. Let Me Be Your Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bergamot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519322) by [BasicBathsheba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasicBathsheba/pseuds/BasicBathsheba). 



> Time does pass inbetween these two parts as Simon is doing much better in part two. Not really a concrete place for these on the timeline, but I don't think it really matters.

**Baz**

I walked into the apartment, expecting to see Simon on the sofa. He wasn’t there. The faint sound of running water was coming from the bathroom so I dropped my bag and headed over to the bedroom. I stopped by the bathroom and heard that it was the shower and not the tap running. Penelope was’t off from class this early, so this had to be Simon. My frozen heart thawed, just a degree or two warmer. It’d been months since Simon showered enough and even longer since he would shower at normal times. It’s been four am showers, few and far between, for a good while. But this was good. 

Just then, when I was feeling that sliver of hope wedge it’s way back into the cracks of my cynicism and despair, I saw that the lights in the bathroom were off. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. He’s still in the shower. This was still good.

I went into his room and pulled out a book. I didn’t want him to feel like I was snooping, nor like he had to entertain me. I wasn’t reading a word though. I was thinking. What does a dark shower mean? Did it mean that he was so overwhelmed with anxiety and that any additional stimuli would’ve sent him over? Did it mean that the depression was so all encompassing that even seeing the world around him would be unbearable? Did he want the world outside to match the way he felt inside? Was he feeling that dark? Maybe it was just soothing, or maybe he was so depressed he couldn’t even muster the energy to turn on the light. There were too many ways to interpret it and not enough information. I would have to ask him and hope that he answered. 

I tried to analyze the way he was acting that night. His mood seemed the same as it has been for the past few months. He was dull, like a burnt out flash bulb. He was quiet and he pulled away from me. He pulled away, but he didn't make me leave. And so I stayed and I kept trying. I’d always try for him, as long as he’d let me. I tried to think of a subtle way to bring it up.

“Is the light in the bathroom out? I can pick up a bulb on the way over tomorrow.”

“No.” he said, looking down into his cup of tea.

“No I shouldn’t get a new bulb or no it’s not out?”

“It’s not out.” he said, and that was the end of that conversation. 

* * *

He was doing it regularly now, showering in the dark. I didn’t know if this was an improvement or not. It’s a change, and I’m not sure how it could’ve gotten too much worse. So I was hopeful. Fuck the Mage for making me the hopeful one in this relationship. 

One day, there was a slight variation. The door to the bathroom was cracked open. The light was still off, of course. I know it wasn’t an invitation for me, I’m long past hoping for anything of the sort. I’m thrilled when he lets me kiss his cheek. I’m almost more desperate than I was in fifth year. But still, the door was open. He won’t talk to me about it, but I think actions might get through to him better than any of my words could anyway. I went into his room and pulled out a candle I bought him when they moved into this place. It’s black cherry, but it ended up at the back of the closet nonetheless. I creep back to the bathroom and push the door open a little further. I eased the candle onto the counter, trying not to startle Simon. I lit it with my finger and then pulled the door back almost shut again. I could see the light flickering faintly from underneath the door. I settled onto the couch and pretended to read my assignment for economics. 

* * *

The next few times I came over, he was in the shower again. It’s gotten so much more frequent now that it almost seemed like he was doing it on purpose. The door’s been open every time, and I’ve slid in and lit the cherry candle every time. I thought about buying him a few more, variety in candles is always nice, but I don't want to scare him off. I don’t want him to know I’m thinking about this. I don’t want him to have an excuse to push me away from this part of his life too. So I use the same candle every day I come over, and I give him what light I can. 

A week later, there’s another change. He was in the shower when I got there, as usual lately. But the candle was already lit in the bathroom. My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to process how I felt about this. This was good. He was creating this light on his own now, pulling himself out from the darkness on inch at a time. I let out a huff of air. I wasn’t pretending that I wouldn’t miss my part in this. I would miss getting to help him in one of the few ways he allowed me to. 

He came out of the shower with his trackies low on his hips and wearing a white tshirt that was riddled with holes around the collar. He had a towel that he was rubbing his curls with. He looked self conscious. He walked into the room, dropping the towel on a chair. It was far past the time when I could even attempt to fuss at Simon for things like this. I would just drop it in the hamper before I left for the night and Penelope would make sure that his laundry wasn’t moulding away. 

He gave on of his long showy swallows, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck nervously now that he didn’t have the towel to fiddle with. He sat next to me on the couch, much closer than he normally did. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. He scooted another few inches over and grabbed my hand, resting our twined fingers on my knee. 

“Thank you, Baz.” he said shyly. 

I didn't have to ask what for. I let out a small sigh of relief. Maybe he would let me help him in other ways now that he didn’t need me for this. Maybe… maybe things could change. 

“You’re welcome, Simon.” 

I didn’t say “Always, Simon.” I didn’t say “Forever, Simon.” But I hoped he heard them anyway. 

  
  



	2. When You Can't Be Your Own

**Simon**

It took me a while to notice it. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most observant person. Well, actually, I’d be the second person. Baz would be the first.

So it took me a while to notice. Baz stopped turning off the lights when he was staying at my flat. I thought he was just getting a bit lazy or giving me a hard time or something. When we shared our room at Watford, if one of us passed out early, the other would turn off the light. The rest of the nights it was about fifty-fifty; whoever was up and about or the last to shower would turn it off. But when he started staying at my flat, I always had to be the one to turn it off. If I fell asleep while he was up studying, the light would still be on when I woke up the next morning. 

That’s what I noticed first, but I only noticed it in the vague way that you notice mild annoyances that aren’t important enough to rise to the front of your mind. But then I started noticing the way he’d tense up when I turned the lights off early. I’ve spent my whole life tensed, ready to jump into battle at any moment. I know the stance when I see it. The lights would go out, and Baz would be rigid in the bed beside me, muscles taut, ready for an attack. 

Sometimes, on bad nights, it wasn’t just tense muscles. Sometimes I could predict which days would lead to bad nights. Those were the days when he was beyond frustrated with group projects in class or when Malcolm had made a particularly nasty comment about his ‘lifestyle.’ But some bad nights came out of blue, after good days of soft words and takeout and walks along the Thames. On bad nights, I would wake up to Baz screaming, clawing at the sheets around him. I’d give him as much space as possible and wake him up as gently as I could. I think the dark reminded him of the coffin and getting too close to him made him feel smothered. He would hold me when he woke up and I would brush his sweaty hair from his face and wipe the tears from his face. I couldn’t be the one wrapped around him after that - he’d feel trapped, confined. But I think the contact may have helped ground him a bit, even though he was holding me. 

I started leaving the lights on some nights to see if it made a difference. It did. Baz would stay relaxed, usually, but sometimes we both had a hard time falling asleep with the glaring lights above us. There were far less nightmares, but it wasn’t a perfect solution by any stretch of the imagination. So I figured I’d do my share of plotting for once.

That’s how I found myself wandering around a Homesense. I was surrounded by about a dozen teenage girls with their mothers in tow, browsing through the fairy lights. I thought about getting one of those Himalayan salt lamps. Agatha had one, said it ‘released electrodes that created good vibes’ or something. But seeing it would just make me think of the time I licked hers and she spent the whole evening lecturing me. There’s so many different kinds of lights and I’ve no idea what to get. Baz is so good at this kind of thing. This might have been a terrible idea. I remind myself that this is a small price to pay for him to feel comfortable at my flat. I’ve fought a dragon, I can fight these prepubescent girls for some twinkly lights. 

I’m not sure how bright they’ll be, so I decided to get a few different things. There’s a glowing moon that I reach for first. It reminds me of the night we shared my magic. Plus, Baz is like the moon — pale grey and pretty. 

There’s a small section with light up punctuation signs that I stop to look at. It feels like even Baz’s decor should be intellectual. There’s a question mark, which feels like it fits for him. But there’s also an exclamation point, which feels like it would fit better for me. I decide to go for the “and” symbol in the end, for both of us (I think there’s a name for it; I’m sure Baz would know it. I’ll ask him when he sees it.) I grab a classic string of fairy lights last, with nice round bulbs and head to the till. 

When I get home, I put on the kettle and start unwrapping the lights. Baz was coming over tonight and I wanted them to all be up when he got here. I didn’t want to make a big production out of it. I stubbed my toe and banged my head and scratched up the wall, but other than that I think I did a pretty good job. I’ve got the string lights framing my bed with the glowing moon underneath. The “and” symbol is on my nightstand. The whistle of the kettle is getting relentless, so I hop off my bed and back to the kitchen. Baz should be here around seven when he finishes up his classes. It’s only two, so I figured I may as well have a fry-up in the meantime. 

I hear the dull thunk of the door swinging shut that indicates Baz’s arrival, but he doesn’t call out. I’m stirring sugar into his cup of earl grey when I hear the thud of his school bag on the ground. This isn’t how good nights usually start and I hope that I made the right call with lights. I walk into the sitting room, balancing two steaming mugs of tea. He’s sprawled on the couch pouting. It’s not a sight I'm unfamiliar with, if I’m honest. 

“Hello, love,” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek and placing our tea on the table in front of him. I climbed onto the couch and tuck my feet underneath his legs, facing him with my knees up between us. “How was class?”

“My professor’s a wanker,” he sighed, “but what’s new, really?” I hummed in sympathy.

“Rodgers again, is it?” He’s got this one econ professor this semester that’s kicking his ass. He grunted and I took that as a yes. He told me about his unreasonable assignments and even more unreasonable grading policies. I let him pick the movie; he went with Master and Commander. Nautical historical films aren’t really my favorite but that’s my fault for letting him pick I s’pose. As if I wouldn’t sit through any boring movie for him (but really, did it have to be this boring? The things I do for love).

When he drained his cup of tea, I went back to the kitchen to refill it with some blood from the fridge, warming it in the microwave. Baz knew that he needed a steady source of blood and that the butcher was the best option, but he still wasn’t happy about it. He finds it revolting when I get it for him. He finds it revolting when he does it himself as well, but he preferred to hide it from me at least. But I thought today would be a day he might accept it. 

I was right. He took the mug and even managed to do it with minimal (though still very present) grumbling. He was starting to warm up and relax, and I was hoping that tonight might not have been a bad night, plotting or not. I curled up into Baz, laying my head in his lap. Master and Commander isn’t one of my favorites and I’ve watched it a million times with Baz by now, and I end up drifting off pretty soon after.

He shook me awake gently as the credits were rolling. The soft glow from the dark screen brought his cheekbones into high relief. He’s so beautiful. I told him so and he just rolled his eyes, but I saw a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

We walked into the bedroom hand in hand. I went to the dresser to grab my pajamas and tossed him his. He went into the bathroom to change and do his long skincare rountine. While he’s in there, I turned on all my different little lights and made us each another cup of tea (yes, his skincare routine takes  _ that _ long.) He glided out of the bathroom and switched off the main light, turning to get into bed. That’s when he noticed the lights.

He only hesitated for a second before taking the last stride to the bed. He took the tea I offered to him, looking over at me but not meeting my eyes. 

“What’s all this then, Snow?” he said, casual as anything. That’s how you know he’s thinking very hard about something. I bit my bottom lip. I didn’t know if this was a good or bad reaction.

“I just um. It seemed like it bothered you when the light was off, like it made the nightmares worse. I thought maybe it was because. . . Well it’s hard to sleep with all the lights on too, yeah? So I thought this might be a good inbetween. I thought it might help.” I swallowed. 

“Simon Snow, trying to provide more light in my life when he’s already the fucking sun. Who gave you the right? The absolute audacity.” his voice trailed off into a mutter and got drowned out by my loud bark of a laugh. I think this is the best reaction I could’ve hoped for. I pulled him into my chest, still chuckling as I pressed a kiss into his hair. 

“Go to bed, you gorgeous nightmare.” He grumbled, but the soft look on his face counteracted any bite he had tried to put in his words. He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear and then left his hand resting there on my face. The way he smiles at me on nights like this makes me believe that maybe everything will be okay in the end. He looks warm in the glow of the lights and I pull him close to me. I want to warm him up and make him feel the way he looks. It’s an excuse anyway; I always want to be close to him. I tuck my face into the crook of his shoulder and breath in the smell of his shampoo. He presses a kiss into my hair and whispers, “Thank you, Simon.” I let my eyes drift shut. For the first night in a long time, we’re both completely relaxed. 


End file.
